The Sting of It
by Hollywood Phoenix
Summary: *COMPLETED: 1/1 chapters * Angel reflecting about his past loves after Waiting in the Wings. B/A, C/A, among others. This is my second foray into fanfic-dom so please R&R (& be kind?)!


Note: Well I'm back again. I've got so many ideas coming out so fast, I can't rein them back in. But I wanted to get this one out before "Couplet" came out. BTW, it's after Valentine's Day, so no promises that this is a happy one.  
Spoilers: Pretty much spans the entire seasons 1-3 of Buffy and all seasons of Angel.  
Feedback: Please! But I'm a sensitive soul so please be kind. :)  
Disclaimer: You know I don't own any of the characters or settings.  
Premise: Angel's reflections after "Waiting in the Wings" and most definitely occurring before "Couplet". And I succeeded in not mentioning the Pylean nuisance in the story! (C/A, B/A, and a touch D/A...D as in Darla)  
  
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The Sting of It  
  
He'd always known what it felt like. The sting of it.  
  
It wasn't as if he hadn't a lot of experience with it. He had, especially in recent decades. As he watched unseen cars zipping by outside his window, he reveled in the pain. A lifetime ago, he was introduced to the world as Liam, a soppy, spoiled lout with unsatisfied needs; he had been just ripe for a new license to life. When Darla turned him into "her boy" Angelus, his character was born anew and he was awarded a second chapter. This one promised him excitement and more licentiousness. With the swish of a pen, he could have everything he needed. Whatever he wanted, he never had or cared to ask before taking.  
  
Then the page turned, and his soul was restored. In this chapter, he was still irresistible; a lady-killer, although technically, he no longer was. He took on his new persona, with a spotted record, and appointed himself as the avenging Angel. Years of avoiding, hiding, and declining attentions politely or not-so-politely. After a few hundred years, he could rationalize that all the attention would go to anyone's head. The first time he lowered his guard was when his chronicles became entwined with Buffy's. It had seemed so wrong to be with the very person who could easily be his downfall, so much so, that he convinced himself that it must have been right. Despite the obstacles in his relationship, in spite of the accidental unleashing of his inner demon, their path had actually been quite easy. His love was requited; he never had to doubt Buffy's love for him. It had always been external forces separating them; higher powers and curses piling on insurmountable barriers to their relationship, to their happiness.  
  
Every so often, he wondered if it had all happened because Buffy was so young. Had she just been a lovesick teenager looking for a rebellious outlet? Another twisted scenario to rival her battles? Or had his character provided a sad plot to complement the evil and mayhem she was forced to deal with every minute, day in and day out? He lived on the shady fringes of her life, patrolling graveyards and abandoned streets at night, taking solace in their quiet and passionately forbidden companionship. What had they had in common? Even now, he couldn't remember conversations about anything but demons, the Hellmouth, her youthfulness, his regrettable and extensive history, him being her Achilles heel, and above all, his eternally damned soul. He had loved her because of her strength, her character, her humour, her unwavering loyalty, and the inspiringly beautiful, but unconscious, voracity of life she possessed. She was given a lifelong job that she couldn't ever write off, and despite the pressures and her tiring of it, she continued to exist. Twenty four hours and seven days a week, she refused to let it turn her into just another "blonde airhead" fighting machine or to depress her will to live her life. He had watched her grow from an innocent girl into a courageous young woman. He admired her. He envied her passion. He envied her persistence. He loved her for the way she made him feel.  
  
Never fully able to be the principal lead in her everyday life, he drew her deeper into the dark chasms of his book of angst, distrust and despair; each time, clinging to impossible dreams. Every slayer had a premature expiry date but he knew the price of his selfishness. He wouldn't stand by and let her book close while his continued. He would rather end his own. She was his first true love. She was his life. Part sacrifice, part redemption, he closed another chapter in his saga and started a new one.  
  
Intending to make this phase last, he renewed his hope for salvation. That meant meeting new women to confuse and distract him; like Kate. Kate had been an ally, yet another blonde, and obviously attracted to him but never trusting enough to build a strong connection. She'd drifted away before he could even hold onto anything tangible with her. Then life threw another angle in the picture, which seemed to mean bringing back the whole slew of women that had floated in and out of his past. The women that he couldn't save. Darla. Drusilla. Faith. Faith had been an incredibly sensual temptation, with her complexities and nubile existence. She had been so much like Buffy, only incapable of any healthy relationship, much less a romantic one. Drusilla's issues had been just as complicated, but he had the guilty hand in writing them. Even after he, as Angelus, had tortured Drusilla to the point of insanity, she'd still been drawn to his power and virility. Of course, those were the very reasons why he had been chosen by Darla. The woman who had observed him and insinuated herself into his life by siring him. She had always been one in need of a strong man to get her through each day. A man to depend on, lead others to do her will and tantalize to bolster her tenuous self-esteem. A whipping dog to bend and mold as she pleased. A minion...  
  
Angel turned from the window, every fibre of his being wound so tight he felt cold and numb. He was facing his son's crib, but couldn't quite hold his head up high enough to look at him yet. His eyes rested on a pair of baby blue booties, so ornately adorned that they were unquestionably irresistible. Out of uncontrollable amusement, his glance rested on his son. The booties could only have been a gift from Cordelia.  
  
One of many gifts from the woman who'd starred in his latest string of episodes. A woman from his past who didn't need saving, not in the sense the other women had. Least of all, by him. A woman with whom he shared a unique relationship.  
  
Not that it had started out that way. She'd been attracted to him, like a queen to a mysterious white knight, before discovering that he was, in fact, cloaked in darkness. As soon as she'd known, she had kept her distance, out of disgust or fear, or for some other motive. For whatever reason, he didn't notice and never attempted to close the gap between them; he wasn't in need of a princess, for he had a slayer.  
  
Then, they'd left Sunnydale and its Hellmouth, his heartache, her stiflingly pampered lifestyle, his blonde obsession and her nemesis. They grudgingly started working closely together towards a common goal and discovered that they got along better than the other would ever have suspected. She started to mean something to him. They went through the trials of a progressive and unexpectedly healthy relationship - learning to be comfortable with one another, confiding in one another, trusting each other and building a lasting friendship. They fought side-by-side and with each other, overcame disagreements, quarrels, fragments in their relationship, and disappointments. They protected each other. Gradually, they learned about parenting and the real world together. A bond was borne from their proximity and situation, and ironically, from their originally distinct, yet inevitably intertwining journeys. She was self-absorbed, but at the same time, mastering the art of selflessness. Growing ever compassionate, loyal and insightful, she was mentally, emotionally, and psychologically powerful and confident. Through strength of character, she wrestled his demons and continued defeating them. Uncharacteristically, she demonstrated vulnerability and let him in behind her defenses. Knowing his past and his future, she took on the mission to stand by him through any hell, simply to make him laugh. His demeanor softened from her daily influence, as hers did from his, and he learned to smile. Metamorphisizing into his seer, his best friend, his family and his son's mother, she became his home. She gave him the best she could offer in love and support, and demanded nothing less from him. Since they had started being drawn on the same pages, he found himself appreciating her bright, albeit sharp perspective and constantly relying on her outwardly pessimistic, but truly optimistic outlook. Each morning, he woke, looking forward to continuing the journey the next day, the next week, the next month together with her.  
  
Along the way, somewhere, his eyes opened. Sometime, he noticed an incredibly desirable woman. And somehow, he fell helplessly in love with her.  
  
It wasn't supposed to be written like this. He was never intended to be this drawn to anyone, let alone be in love again. It was impossible. It was too soon. It was too frighteningly real.  
  
He turned back to the window again, the icy numbness long having melted under the fiery anguish of his reverie. He couldn't offer her anything. He couldn't offer her the fairy tale ending he knew she desired. And he certainly couldn't offer her normal. That evening, he'd attempted it, taking them all to the ballet. He should have realized that evil would never let him have the night off. He should have realized that he would never be the scribe of his own scripts.  
  
Like previous scenes, they'd been thrown into strange and unusual circumstances. As he'd experienced before, he was used as a conduit by spirits for a love tryst. Playing the roles of doomed lovers from another century and another book, he'd felt a passion stir so deep within him that he'd been powerless to stop it. Or maybe he hadn't tried hard enough. Acting out a forbidden and tragic love, which he could write an encyclopedia on, it had dawned on him that he could feel like a man, and not a so-called man-pire. For once, he could show her how much he loved her; what and how much she really meant to him.   
  
He clenched his hands at his impulsive foolishness. Realizing in hindsight that it could only have ended unhappily, he felt cheated of the prospect of his first special moment with her. They had only been performing lines they weren't meant to utter; they weren't the ones breathlessly whispering their everlasting love and devotion to one another. Shuddering at the memory of her acting so distant and foreign, so withdrawn and possessed, he felt the sting of how none of it had rung true. The passion had been so uncomfortable and forced, lacking their usually natural, easy chemistry.  
  
As he continued to stare out the window, he futilely tried to glimpse his reflection in the glass. He saw the bright lights outside, obstructing his vain attempts. She had been the one to suggest letting the spirits retake their bodies, but had been reluctant to let things progress beyond exchanging a few passionate kisses. As usual, his thinking too much like a man had clouded his judgment; it had made him ignore what had been glaringly obvious. She must have been so repulsed by the idea that they could ever be that couple. Knowing the ending. Knowing that it could only end.  
  
Only now, he understood. Now he was feeling the full sting of it. For the first time in his unnatural life, he felt rejected. He cursed his unending remorse. What might have been. What should have been. As always, he felt the sting from the story of his life.  
  
  
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AN: Hi guys! I've got tons of story ideas pouring out, but unfortunately, not as much time to write them all out. Also, I'm trying to expand my horizons and move beyond the regular somber, angst-filled brooding, as well as C/A romance (as much as I obviously adore them together). I'm really going to try getting all of them out of my head in the near future, but I'm asking YOU, as my readers, to help me decide what I should write next. Here are the choices:  
  
1. A mysterious (human) stranger from Liam's past appears, wielding great power and on a secret mission. It's intended to be an action/mystery/sci-fi/possible romance (of which characters, unknown right now). There'll be focus on interactions with all members of the Fang Gang. It'll be set right after Connor's birth.  
  
2. An ensemble piece about the Fang Gang being locked in the Hyperion Hotel (I swear that I came up with this before watching the Buffy episode, "Older and Far Away" where they're stuck in Buffy's house). This will hopefully include appearances by Spike, Tara, Faith, and maybe even Kate. Possibly even Giles, Lilah and Lindsay (by popular request). I don't intend to bring Buffy or Dawn in on this one (personal preference). I'm not exactly the funniest writer in the world, but I'm hoping this will fall under the humour category. Set to be around the Jan/Feb 2002 episode time period.  
  
3. Set right after "Provider", Angel and Cordy will be propelled into 3rd season Btvs-verse. I think this idea of jumping into one's previous bodies through a time warp has been used and re-used but I am really tickled pink by the idea and want to dabble with it. This will, of course, also star Buffy and the Scooby Gang, and will most definitely touch on B/A, C/A, C/X, and the Buffy/Cordy rivalry. 


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